hackthis_archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hackthis_archive) wrote2004-08-30 11:52 am
hackthis_archive) wrote2004-08-30 11:52 am
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Entourage - The Man in the Would-Be Suit
I have Harry/Neville and Ron/Neville on the brain, but I can't figure out which to tackle first, so I went with a different fandom instead ;)
Entourage (spoilers for 1:7 The Scene)
The Man in the Would-Be Suit
"But I wanna do this picture,” Vince says for the fiftieth time in five minutes. He does petulant well. Eric knows he’s been practicing in the bathroom mirror every morning; he wakes up Eric to get his opinion all the time. "With this director."
"Well, I want to be a fucking millionaire," Eric snaps back, "but not everybody gets what they want all the time, in case you didn't notice, Vince."
Eric spits out his name like it's something distasteful, and Eric can actually see him wince.
"Hey, I know somebody who can hook you up with --" Turtle interrupts.
"Shut up, Turtle," Eric and Vince chime in unison.
It's the only thing they agree on right now, which isn't saying a lot. This is the kind of argument that only makes sense to them because Turtle just frowns and Drama looks confused, but then Drama always looks confused, and they're supposed to be past this thing by now.
They've signed on. Billy fucking Walsh has signed on. Ari is still shitting bricks about wanting a studio picture and the blow-job from hell, but even he's signed on as well. But Eric... Eric is not on board with this.
He’s nobody’s fucking suit.
He’s nobody’s Yes Man.
*
Eric doesn't care about the gay thing, and he only kind of cares about the some-other-guy-blowing-Vince-thing. He cares about how much they’ve invested in Queens Boulevard already. He cares about how it’s fucking sucking them dry. It doesn’t matter if the blowjob is simulated or real or whatever. Hollywood is all about appearances, just look at the mess with Vincent Gallo and Chloe Wassername and Brown Bunny. If Vince does this thing it’ll be all anybody talks about for the rest of his career. When he’s old and infirm, nurses will spoon-feed him and talk about how hot he was back in that one movie where that guy sucked him off on the subway, and this is not what Eric came from New York for. It’s not. They’ve worked – he’s worked his ass off to create this image for Vince as a teen heartthrob, and that's about to go down the fucking shitter because Vince has a vision and Billy fucking Walsh has a vision, and apparently his opinion doesn't count for shit.
"The job of a manager is to fucking manage," he snaps when Turtle asks if he wants the last of the sausage on his plate. “I can’t manage Vince if he doesn’t fucking listen to my advice. I’m supposed to keep him from doing stupid shit like this.”
“Whatever, E,” Turtle laughs. “How’re you gonna manage Vince when you can’t even manage not to drunk dial your piece on the side. What’d you do, go to Managers Community College?”
“I went to Kick Your Ass University,” Drama chimes in between shoveling forkfuls of egg into his mouth.
“And flunked out on the second day,” Turtle laughs.
“Shut up,” Eric snaps, poking Turtle with his fork when he tries to lift the last piece of sausage. “That’s mine. Don’t touch what’s mine.”
“Somebody’s touchy this morning,” Turtle says, rubbing the back of his hand.
“Shut up, Turtle,” Drama says absently.
*
In the elevator down from the Marmont penthouse, Vince rocks back and forth on his heels with a huge grin on his face, but Eric can’t bring himself to share in the excitement. “The gay thing really got you, didn’t it?” Vince says poking Eric in the ribs playfully.
“It wasn’t the gay thing,” Eric begins.
“He didn’t want you infringing on Drama’s territory,” Turtle chimes in. “Shirt-lifting is his thing, and you’ll never get him out the house if you take all his roles.”
“How about you infringe on this,” Drama says, yanking Turtle into a headlock.
When the elevator stops in the lobby Vince is laughing and Turtle’s gasping for air as Drama’s giving him a noogie, but Eric’s out the door.
*
“I’m nobody’s fucking suit,” Eric announces, rolling away when Vince slides under the duvet with him in the wee hours of the morning.
“You’re not still all bent out of shape about that, are you, E?”
Vince’s voice is scratchy, and he smells like sweat and chocolate and smoke. Obviously he and Turtle have been hot boxing in the bathroom again, and Eric snorts to himself as he throws one leg over the side of the bed and propels himself up to sit on the edge.
“I don’t wear a suit.” Eric pulls away from Vince’s fingers brush against the small of his spine. “I don’t get paid like a suit. I’m tired of being treated like I’m a fucking bad guy just because I’m trying to do the right thing for you.”
“This is about money?” Vince’s incredulous tone says a lot; Eric doesn’t need to see his face.
“No, this is about respect.”
“You want Billy to respect you?”
“No, I want you to respect me.”
“E, you’re my best friend, of course I respect you.”
“Bullshit, Vince, you don’t respect me at all.”
Eric can feel the mattress shifting as Vince sits up, but the minute Vince’s hand slips onto his shoulder Eric’s off the bed.
“You want a suit?” Eric says to the dark bedroom, “then you can have a fucking suit. But you can’t have it all, Vince. You can’t have a suit and a friend and somebody’s dick to suck at,” a glance at the nightstand, “three-seventeen in the morning. It doesn’t work like that.”
Eric takes a deep breath before turning around, and even in the darkness he can read Vince like a book. The look on his face is a strange mixture of confusion and suspicion and hurt. “What are you saying, E?”
“I’m saying that you better make up your mind what you want, because you can't have it all,” Eric says crossing the room and grabbing up yesterday’s clothes where he left them. He's got to get out of here. “I’m no suit, I’m your partner; I’m not here to be used. This may be Hollywood, but I'm no one's bitch.”
-end-
Entourage (spoilers for 1:7 The Scene)
The Man in the Would-Be Suit
"But I wanna do this picture,” Vince says for the fiftieth time in five minutes. He does petulant well. Eric knows he’s been practicing in the bathroom mirror every morning; he wakes up Eric to get his opinion all the time. "With this director."
"Well, I want to be a fucking millionaire," Eric snaps back, "but not everybody gets what they want all the time, in case you didn't notice, Vince."
Eric spits out his name like it's something distasteful, and Eric can actually see him wince.
"Hey, I know somebody who can hook you up with --" Turtle interrupts.
"Shut up, Turtle," Eric and Vince chime in unison.
It's the only thing they agree on right now, which isn't saying a lot. This is the kind of argument that only makes sense to them because Turtle just frowns and Drama looks confused, but then Drama always looks confused, and they're supposed to be past this thing by now.
They've signed on. Billy fucking Walsh has signed on. Ari is still shitting bricks about wanting a studio picture and the blow-job from hell, but even he's signed on as well. But Eric... Eric is not on board with this.
He’s nobody’s fucking suit.
He’s nobody’s Yes Man.
Eric doesn't care about the gay thing, and he only kind of cares about the some-other-guy-blowing-Vince-thing. He cares about how much they’ve invested in Queens Boulevard already. He cares about how it’s fucking sucking them dry. It doesn’t matter if the blowjob is simulated or real or whatever. Hollywood is all about appearances, just look at the mess with Vincent Gallo and Chloe Wassername and Brown Bunny. If Vince does this thing it’ll be all anybody talks about for the rest of his career. When he’s old and infirm, nurses will spoon-feed him and talk about how hot he was back in that one movie where that guy sucked him off on the subway, and this is not what Eric came from New York for. It’s not. They’ve worked – he’s worked his ass off to create this image for Vince as a teen heartthrob, and that's about to go down the fucking shitter because Vince has a vision and Billy fucking Walsh has a vision, and apparently his opinion doesn't count for shit.
"The job of a manager is to fucking manage," he snaps when Turtle asks if he wants the last of the sausage on his plate. “I can’t manage Vince if he doesn’t fucking listen to my advice. I’m supposed to keep him from doing stupid shit like this.”
“Whatever, E,” Turtle laughs. “How’re you gonna manage Vince when you can’t even manage not to drunk dial your piece on the side. What’d you do, go to Managers Community College?”
“I went to Kick Your Ass University,” Drama chimes in between shoveling forkfuls of egg into his mouth.
“And flunked out on the second day,” Turtle laughs.
“Shut up,” Eric snaps, poking Turtle with his fork when he tries to lift the last piece of sausage. “That’s mine. Don’t touch what’s mine.”
“Somebody’s touchy this morning,” Turtle says, rubbing the back of his hand.
“Shut up, Turtle,” Drama says absently.
In the elevator down from the Marmont penthouse, Vince rocks back and forth on his heels with a huge grin on his face, but Eric can’t bring himself to share in the excitement. “The gay thing really got you, didn’t it?” Vince says poking Eric in the ribs playfully.
“It wasn’t the gay thing,” Eric begins.
“He didn’t want you infringing on Drama’s territory,” Turtle chimes in. “Shirt-lifting is his thing, and you’ll never get him out the house if you take all his roles.”
“How about you infringe on this,” Drama says, yanking Turtle into a headlock.
When the elevator stops in the lobby Vince is laughing and Turtle’s gasping for air as Drama’s giving him a noogie, but Eric’s out the door.
“I’m nobody’s fucking suit,” Eric announces, rolling away when Vince slides under the duvet with him in the wee hours of the morning.
“You’re not still all bent out of shape about that, are you, E?”
Vince’s voice is scratchy, and he smells like sweat and chocolate and smoke. Obviously he and Turtle have been hot boxing in the bathroom again, and Eric snorts to himself as he throws one leg over the side of the bed and propels himself up to sit on the edge.
“I don’t wear a suit.” Eric pulls away from Vince’s fingers brush against the small of his spine. “I don’t get paid like a suit. I’m tired of being treated like I’m a fucking bad guy just because I’m trying to do the right thing for you.”
“This is about money?” Vince’s incredulous tone says a lot; Eric doesn’t need to see his face.
“No, this is about respect.”
“You want Billy to respect you?”
“No, I want you to respect me.”
“E, you’re my best friend, of course I respect you.”
“Bullshit, Vince, you don’t respect me at all.”
Eric can feel the mattress shifting as Vince sits up, but the minute Vince’s hand slips onto his shoulder Eric’s off the bed.
“You want a suit?” Eric says to the dark bedroom, “then you can have a fucking suit. But you can’t have it all, Vince. You can’t have a suit and a friend and somebody’s dick to suck at,” a glance at the nightstand, “three-seventeen in the morning. It doesn’t work like that.”
Eric takes a deep breath before turning around, and even in the darkness he can read Vince like a book. The look on his face is a strange mixture of confusion and suspicion and hurt. “What are you saying, E?”
“I’m saying that you better make up your mind what you want, because you can't have it all,” Eric says crossing the room and grabbing up yesterday’s clothes where he left them. He's got to get out of here. “I’m no suit, I’m your partner; I’m not here to be used. This may be Hollywood, but I'm no one's bitch.”
-end-
no subject
It's that line. That line, for whatever reason, is so incredibly Eric. Your characters voices are right on all the time, here, but there's something about that particular line.
Also? You write the perfect Turtle.
no subject